July 7, 1892
Homestead, Pennsylvania
Dear Eliza,
I still can hardly believe the turmoil that has erupted here in Homestead. I write to you from the very heart of the steelworks, where the air is thick with a strange mix of fear and determination. It feels surreal, as if we are living in the pages of a history book—or perhaps a tragedy.
As I sit in the small, dimly lit room shared with the other men, I can hear the distant echo of machinery still rumbling in the background. But the sound isn’t comforting; it feels like a ghost of our labor, a reminder of what we are fighting against. Just days ago, we were hard at work under the watchful eye of Mr. Frick and the supervisors, our sweat and toil filling the company coffers. Now, we stand at a crossroads, barricades hastily erected to protect what little we have left—the right to work for a fair wage and in decent conditions.
I participated in the strike because I could no longer bear to watch our livelihoods stripped away. The company saw us not as men but as cogs in their relentless machine, pushing us to work longer hours for less pay. When word spread that Frick intended to cut wages yet again, I felt a fire ignite within me; this was no longer just a matter of money—it was our dignity at stake. When my fellow workers began to gather, their faces grim but resolute, I knew I had to stand with them.
The sight of the men assembling—it was both hopeful and heartbreaking. Some came with their families, mothers holding children, all united in their resolve. But when the Pinkertons arrived, armed and violent, a shiver ran through me. I have witnessed men turn into shadows of their former selves, driven by desperation and anger. I have seen neighbors, once friendly, turned into faces of defiance, shouting for their rights and against oppression. And yet, I hear whispers of fear too—the fear of losing everything, of being beaten back by the hired guns of capital.
In those quiet minutes between the shouts and the chaos, I often think of you, Eliza, and the life we dreamed of together. I cannot stand idly by while the very fabric of our community frays. We have families to feed and children to protect. For that, I must defend our right to a livable wage and respect. It is terrifying and exhilarating at once, the weight of this struggle pressing down upon my shoulders.
As the sun rises and falls over the mill, casting shadows that seem scarier each day, I am resolved to see this through. But know that I fear for you and the children, my love. I promise to keep you safe and updated—our fight must not falter, lest we lose the ground we have gained.
With all my heart,
Jonathan
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